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Charlene TEGLIA - Dangerous Games(ellora)

Page 2

by Dangerous Games(ellora) (lit)


  She hoped the motorcycle man was mechanical. Maybe he could work a miracle under her hood and send her on her way.

  If not, she had another problem. At best, she’d hear an “I told you so” since she’d refused to let Trahern’s attorney send a car for her. Or worst case, the threat of legal action against her younger brother would be carried out.

  The attorney who’d contacted her representing Mr. Trahern’s case and proposed out-of-court settlement had been very clear on the terms.

  Her brother Ryan had been caught red-handed breaking into the system that housed Trahern’s multimillion-dollar software company. He was willing to resolve the matter without pressing criminal charges against her brother on the grounds of his youth and lack of a previous record. Also, Ryan hadn’t managed to break into any sensitive information so no real theft had occurred and no damage was done.

  All she had to do to make Ryan’s problem go away was to spend a weekend in Mr. Trahern’s company for a personal in-depth interview.

  Apparently Trahern wanted to make sure there wasn’t going to be a repeat incident if he showed leniency the first time. Maybe he wanted to lecture her on the responsibilities and legal obligations guardianship of a minor entailed. Maybe he was going to give her pointers on the teenage male psyche and a few ideas on how to prevent Ryan from pursuing a life of white-collar crime or juvenile delinquency. Not that she had any real worries on that score.

  Getting caught had put the fear of God into Ryan, who swore he’d never done anything like that before and never would again. Since the act was completely out of character, Melinda tended to believe him.

  She still had no idea what had made him do such a thing. Curiosity, or lack of good judgment in the face of a dare. He was at that age, not quite an adult, no longer a little boy. He may have felt the need to do something dangerous to prove himself. That a friend had put him up to it was no excuse.

  Whatever the reason behind it, the damage was done. And Melinda was on her way to do damage control, or penance, or whatever it was Trahern wanted from her. Whatever he wanted, it wouldn’t be anything exciting. On the other hand, whatever he wanted from this interview was also unlikely to be anything melodramatic. Like making her scrub the floors with a toothbrush or write “I will not let my brother hack into computer systems” over and over on a blackboard.

  In any case she’d left directly from work right atfive o’clockand been on her way to present herself for possible grilling and intimidation from Friday evening through Sunday, until a cloud of steam erupted underneath the hood of her car.

  She wondered how bad the car situation was. She ought to check, although that meant putting herself within reach of a leather-clad stranger.

  She debated that briefly.

  So far her rescuer hadn’t made any threatening gestures, in spite of his rough appearance. Besides, she couldn’t stop him if he decided to turn threatening from inside the car any better than she could outside it. Her mind made up to risk it, Melinda released her seat belt and stepped out onto the pavement to join him.

  She found him leaning under the hood. He turned his head to aim his mirrored lenses at her again. “Your temperature gauge broken?”

  “What?”

  He straightened and placed his hands on his hips. Melinda noticed he wore short leather gloves that didn’t have any fingers, covering just the palms and backs of his hands to the wrist.

  “Temperature gauge,” he repeated. “Tells you when you’re overheating. Yours give you any indication you were running too hot?”

  She wasn’t a complete idiot. If she’d seen the indicator needle swing from “C” to “H” she would have known to turn off the air conditioner and run the heater to cool down the motor even though it would have cooked her alive with the outside temperature in the triple digits. “No,” she told him.

  He looked at her for a moment longer. Then he reached up and unzipped his battered black leather jacket and started stripping it off his shoulders.

  He was taking his clothes off?

  Melinda backed up a step. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  For an answer, he finished removing the jacket and swung it around her, using it to pull her forward so he could zip it up while he stayed right where he was. Her long straight hair that was too dark to be blonde and too light to be brunette lay flat against her back, trapped under the heavy jacket.

  “You’re not going anywhere without a new radiator. I have a long-sleeved T-shirt on,” he informed her. “You don’t have sleeves.”

  She didn’t. The soft pink cotton shell she wore had a high round neck and no sleeves. It was too hot for short sleeves, let alone long ones. And now she was wrapped in his jacket that looked sexy on him and ridiculous on her, her hands hanging far up inside the sleeves that were too long and the hem billowing around her thighs instead of her waist. It smelled of sun-warmed leather and musky male and some sort of biochemical hallucinogen, and she breathed in the heady mix.

  “Your shoes are okay. Jeans would be better, but at least you have slacks on.” He still had his hand on the top of the jacket, where the zipper ended below her chin, and he used it to tug Melinda towards the driver’s side door. “Get your purse and lock your car.”

  If she were any good at confrontation, she’d tell him to keep his hands and his jacket and his orders to himself, she thought in a flash of rebellion.

  Common sense told her it was ridiculous to want to argue when her car was obviously not going anywhere under its own power without the intervention of a good mechanic.

  It was hot, and the longer they stood out there arguing the hotter it would get, and if he hadn’t said anything, she would have taken her purse and locked the car up anyway. So she did as he said and locked the car after slinging her long purse strap over her shoulder. Not because he’d told her to, but because it made sense. But when he tugged her over towards the machine with the apt words Ducati Monster printed on the gas tank, Melinda balked.

  “I can’t get on that thing.”

  “You can. Swing one leg over and sit. That’s all it takes.”

  She eyed the Monster and imagined that it pawed the ground and snorted smoke at her. “No.”

  He moved behind her, cutting off any escape she might have been tempted to make by trapping her between himself and the Monster. He put his hands on her shoulders and crowded her body with his own. He lifted one hand to smooth a strand of hair along the vulnerable curve of her neck. His low voice rasped far too close to her ear. “You’ll like it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He laughed at her prim tone. “Women like motorcycles,” he assured her. “They’re big vibrators with wheels.” He moved forward, pushing her closer to the bike with his muscular body and ignoring her gasp at his crude description. “I’ll get on first. You get on behind me and hang on tight.”

  He snapped pegs down for her feet to rest on, settled himself in the seat and waited, booted feet firmly planted on the ground on each side of the sleek mechanical beast. “Your turn. Get on.”

  Melinda had the feeling he’d give her the opportunity to cooperate first and then take action if she didn’t. What kind of action he’d take, she couldn’t imagine. Well, maybe she could. Vividly.

  She stood frozen for a minute as she imagined just what kind of action he was likely to take after whispering in her ear and nudging his body up against hers from behind and talking about vibrators to her like they were lovers indulging in foreplay instead of strangers who’d met on the highway.

  She shivered in the hot sun. She didn’t want him to dothat . Probably not, anyway. All right, so she did, but it wasn’t smart.

  She reminded herself that this was a very inconvenient time for her hormones to assert themselves.

  It couldn’t really be him causing this sudden surge of sexual awareness. It was more probably the combination of years of repression, the awkward situation, and turning twenty-nine meant that some sort of biological clock was kicking in, urging
her to perpetuate the species. He just happened to be nearby, and her genes thought he looked like he carried survivalist sperm.

  She didn’t want to get any closer to him. But she also couldn’t afford to miss her appointment with Trahern, and here he was, an unlikely Samaritan in leather and mirrored shades, willing to give her a ride.

  Besides, what was the alternative? She could wait for another passing car. She could try walking. Either option was likely to give her sunstroke, dehydration, and blisters.

  Knowing there wasn’t really any choice, Melinda blew out a breath and swung her leg awkwardly over the rear tire. She perched on the downhill sloping seat that made her lean forward against his broad back and left her nowhere to put her arms but around his hard waist and nowhere to put her legs but spread wide on either side of his. Her feet rested tentatively on the narrow pegs that stuck out above the exhaust pipes.

  “Okay back there?”

  Melinda nodded and tried not to inhale his mind-altering “mate with me” pheromones. She wished he had more on than a T-shirt. She was pressed far too close to him and there wasn’t nearly enough separating them.

  “Sit there a minute and get your balance. It’s like riding a bicycle. All you have to do is hold on and stay with me.”

  The motor roared to life. When he gunned it, Melinda realized with a jolt that he hadn’t been lying. The vibration of the motor caressed her where it had no business doing anything of the sort. With the angle she was sitting at, leaning slightly forward with her legs spread wide, she couldn’t move away from the sensation. He gunned the motor again and the resulting vibration shot a jolt of pleasure through the inadequate protection of her linen slacks.

  “Where to?”

  She repeated the instructions she’d been given.

  Trahern Enterprises was headquartered on a private ranch near Bruneau, on the river. Isolated. And soon she’d be there. All alone. No car. No way to escape.

  “It’s about an hour’s ride,” he informed her, his deep voice rumbling over the motor. “If you get a cramp, tap me. I’ll find a place to stop so you can stretch.”

  She didn’t think a cramp was likely to be her biggest problem between the vibrations that were stretching her nerves taut and his lethally masculine presence, but Melinda shouted her acknowledgement over his shoulder. Then the motorcycle shot forward and she concentrated on holding on.

  The desert heat lessened once they started moving. The motorcycle’s speed created a welcome stream of cold wind that flowed over her head, around her body on either side, even under her feet. The sun warmed her back through the protective leather jacket and the man she wanted to keep her distance from warmed her stomach and breasts.

  After a few minutes, Melinda realized she was actually fairly comfortable, and that the angle of the seat meant she really couldn’t go anywhere but closer to the rider, not the ground that rushed past under the wheels. She started to relax, although she didn’t loosen her grip.

  At least he did seem to know how to handle the motorcycle. Undoubtedly as expertly as he’d know how to handle a woman. Not that she was in the same class as his high-performance machine. And not that she wanted him to handle her.

  She closed her eyes and silently berated herself. She had to stop this inappropriate line of thinking and figure out how to handle Trahern. And herself, while she was at it. No more hormones. No more mental lapses. She had to focus.

  Not an easy thing to do when she was plastered up against a man who generated as much heat as the full desert sun while a machine that was probably illegal in certain southern states pleasured her.

  By the time the motorcycle roared onto the private paved road that led to Trahern’s steel gates, Melinda didn’t have any better thoughts on handling anybody, least of all herself. The vibrations from the mechanical monster between her legs had her antsy and on the edge of orgasm. She didn’t doubt the man had revved the motor several times on purpose just to affect her.

  She all but leaped off when he pulled up in front of the gates. “Thanks, you can leave me here.”

  He looked back at her, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. “No, I don’t think so.”

  And he proceeded to punch in the security code that swung open the gate.

  Chapter Two

  She didn’t say a word, but Drake thought he could nearly see the puffs of steam coming from her shell-like ears.

  He could have told her who he was. He could have explained that he’d followed her to make sure she arrived. If she failed to appear he’d wanted to know about it immediately, and why. But he’d seen the opportunity to find out if she recognized him, if she knew anything about him personally, and he’d taken it.

  She hadn’t seemed to have a clue. Maybe she didn’t know anything. Or maybe she was damned good at hiding what she knew.

  “Get back on the bike. It’s a long walk to the house.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  Her prim voice and prim clothes, totally at odds with her windblown hair and the leather jacket, made her sound like a starchy spinster guarding her virtue from wicked men and their indecent motorcycles. Perversely, it made Drake want to give her virtue a good threat.

  Words prompted by some devil came out of his mouth. “I said get on. You’re here this weekend to do what I want. I want your legs wrapped around me. Get on.”

  If he’d zapped her with a Taser, he couldn’t have gotten a more electrified result.

  She jumped like she’d taken ten volts straight to the base of her spine. Then she turned to him, put her hands on her hips, and glared. “Listen, you. You have a right to hold me accountable for what Ryan did. He’s underage and I’m his guardian. But if you think that means I’m going to…to…”

  Her voice trailed off into silence and her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips. “Well. Just so you know that.”

  As if that cleared things up, Melinda spun on her heel and started marching towards the house. Sunlight caught the angles of wood and glass soaring up in an oversized A-frame. She wouldn’t have any trouble finding her way.

  “Is that all you have to say?” he asked her retreating backside.

  “I’m not good at confrontation,” she yelled back over her shoulder as she kept walking.

  “You’re good at stubborn.” Drake gunned the motor and pulled up beside her, then rolled along, keeping pace. “Come on. It’s further than it looks. You’ll give yourself heat exhaustion.”

  “And that would inconvenience you, right?”

  “Hell, yes. Now get on by yourself, or I’ll put you on.”

  She stopped again and glared. For a tiny thing, she gave good glare. Drake reminded himself that badgers were small, too, and vicious fighters.

  “I’m not getting back on that thing. I refuse to have carnal knowledge of anything gasoline-powered.”

  “Irritated because you got off before you were finished?” Drake goaded.

  Her fair skin turned an amazingly dark shade of red. Wordless, she started walking again in long, determined strides. Then she stopped again abruptly. “I assume you can take me back for my clothes? I left my suitcase in the car.”

  The devil fed him words once more. “I could, but I won’t. You won’t need clothes.”

  He watched her grapple with that one. For some reason, he wanted to shock her. Something in him enjoyed it. Something about her made him want to push her buttons.

  Maybe it was her cool, prim demeanor. It made him want to dig at her until cool turned to heat and prim turned to passion. He wanted to tear away all her polite masks, all her façades, strip her bare so he could see who and what she really was. Maybe it was the way she reacted so beautifully to his verbal jabs, too.

  He felt a little disappointed when she refused to take the bait this time. Instead, she climbed back on behind him. “If that’s what you have planned for me, Mr. Trahern, I suppose I should find pleasure where I can until Sunday night.”

  Point to her. That badger analogy might not be far off.

/>   “Nobody said you can’t please yourself, too,” he said.

  Until he’d seen her there on the highway, looking a little scared and unsure but trying not to let it show, he hadn’t decided whether or not he’d pursue her sexually. He’d brought her here for answers. He’d brought her here to see if she’d spring the trap he’d laid for her and incriminate herself.

  But he’d been drawn by the flare of sensual curiosity in her eyes when she looked at him. He would swear it was the look of a woman who had never really noticed a man before. He’d liked the way she took the breakdown and the need to accept a ride from a stranger in stride instead of using the situation as an excuse to break her word to him.

  And there was that devilish urge to bait her, to poke and prod at her to see what lay underneath the surface. She challenged him with the contradictions presented by her prim voice and those eyes that said she secretly wondered.

 

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